Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door
by the morrighan
Summary: My version of a series six. This is the eighth story in the set of twelve.
1. Chapter 1

Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door

"Sheppard? Colonel Sheppard?"

The summons went unanswered.

The KAWOOSH was an explosion of energy, expanding from the Stargate and then snapping back to form a shimmering pool of light. It rippled like water and lent an aqueous sheen to the 'Gate room. The pale light was glowing on bare walls, on a bare floor, on the bare ceiling, flickering like a living thing, translucent and seductive.

A few seconds later the team stepped out of it, materializing as they stepped onto the hard floor and paused to get their bearings and to stare round, although there was nothing to see.

It was dark.

Blackness engulfed the 'Gate room, engulfed the control room above them. The emergency lights were frail amber pools swallowed by the gloom. As the Stargate's wormhole winked out of existence the team was plunged into an even blacker darkness. Quickly they turned on their P90 lights. The gleams were harsh rays of brilliance that revealed nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. The lights on their helmets revealed their surprise, their worry, their wonder.

It was silent.

The only sounds were the faint bubbling of the water in the walls and the hiss/snap of the team's oxygen tanks on their EVAC suits. It was an odd combination of faint sounds, and resembled the workings of an aquarium. Snap. Hiss. Bubble. Snap. Hiss. Bubble.

The rest was silence.

The MALP they had sent through earlier was standing exactly where it had stopped, before its feed had given out and died. The footage had revealed nothing, no danger, but nothing remarkable either. It could only tell them where they were, that the dialing sequence had worked and they had reached the correct destination.

The leader gestured. Two team members fanned out to either side, guns at the ready. Their footsteps were loud against the silence. The EVAC suits seemed to squeak with every step. The team resembled a set of spacemen clad in red spacesuits. Everyone was staring round at the darkness, as if expecting a monster to leap out of the shadows.

None did.

The leader shook his head. He checked the MALP but it was stagnant, drained of power. He patted it as if it was a pet. "Atmosphere?"

"Barely…yes. It's safe to remove them," the scientist replied. Their voices sounded tinny over the comms in the helmets. At least there was nothing to block their communications. Even so the team adjusted their more primitive radios, just in case.

The leader gestured and the team unsnapped their helmets and removed them. Deep breaths were taken of the stale, yet breathable air. It was cold. Not cold enough to reveal the breaths that they took but nearly so. Helmets were set aside, but the hazmat suits remained just a precaution.

The guns remained as well.

"What now, sir?" asked the man as he hefted his gun in both hands. The hazmat suit was too small for him and wanted nothing more than to get out of it.

"Control room. We need to see if we can get the power running," the leader decided. "Let's move out."

The team cautiously exited the 'Gate room and climbed the stairs. Their lights shone across the steps, the walls, chasing away the darkness and the gloom and revealing no bodies, no evidence of any violence or cataclysm. The lights were so dim that they cast barely a shadow as they climbed the steps in unison.

The architecture was eerily similar to other cities built by the Ancients, and familiar. Each had knowledge of the construction of the cities and even if one was buried underground or had been overgrown by centuries of neglect the basic blueprint was the same.

Apparently one layout was good enough for the Ancients.

The scientist moved to the control panels and began fiddling, having to remove his gloves. The controls were cold to the touch, but after a few moments they sluggishly responded. Power flared then was gone. "Power's nearly depleted. I'm detecting only one ZPM and it's at half power, at best. No wonder they couldn't contact us for help. This latest drain seems to be recent, however."

"Can you get the city up and running?"

"No." At the leader's stare the scientist amended his opinion. "Well, at bare minimum. It's not obeying commands."

"I'll take the bare minimum," the leader replied. "We've only got an hour to find out what the hell happened here or we will miss the trip back home. Can you get anything out of that?"

"Sure, if I had a few hours," the scientist snapped, but he sighed. "Secondary systems are offline. Primary systems are only barely operational. There have been a few breaches in the structural integrity, but I can't tell if it was by accident or attack."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time now would it?" the leader remarked with a sneer. "Half of the people here don't know how to run this stuff, let alone control it properly. I'm surprised that the place is up and running at all."

"Shouldn't we be looking for them?" the man asked.

"In due time. We don't want to run into anything unexpected, now do we?" the leader replied.

"It's a little too late for that," the scientist commented, earning a scowl from the leader.

"Are there any data files or—" the woman attempted, but the scientist interrupted her query.

"No! I can't access those either. It's locked down, or deleted." He wiped at a screen. A thin layer of frost was beginning to form over it, obscuring any data that might appear. He frowned as if disciplining a recalcitrant child.

"Life signs?" the leader asked.

"Scanning." There was a pause as the scientist adjusted his scanner, smacking the side of it to make it function properly. It would have been humorous if the situation wasn't appearing to be so grave. "There's a lot of interference…internal sensors are offline…there must be some kind of residual damage to the main grid. Three," he finally answered.

"What?" the leader exclaimed. "There should be over two hundred!" He looked around as if his shock would make them come out of hiding, but this was no surprise party.

"Perhaps they evacuated, sir," the woman suggested, looking round as if she could sense those who should have been there, or perhaps those who might be there instead. She looked out of the window to see the night sky full of stars. "Perhaps that's why there was no call for help. Maybe there wasn't time to send out a distress signal." She looked at the night sky again.

All appeared calm and bright.

"Something went wrong. Let's move out. We'll go down a level and check the living quarters first. Comms?" the leader asked. He walked over to a console and tapped the PA button, but nothing happened. Not even a squeak of static broke the oppressive silence.

"Not working. Look." The scientist gestured. "Control crystals are broken. They have been deliberately broken. See how the panel's been pried open by force?" He pointed to a series of marks on the structure, deep gouges made by some metallic instrument. "As far as I can tell it is just communications, citywide."

"Sabotage?"

The question hung unanswered in the cold air. All four looked at each other, sharing the same thoughts, the same worries. Grips on guns tightened and they looked around the control room. But there was nothing to see but darkness, and the darkness beyond.

At the same time there was no hint of violence. Apart from the one panel nothing else was broken or smashed. Everything appeared to be operational and just wasn't. It almost appeared as if the city had been abandoned, possibly for years. The fine patina of frost was due to the chilled temperatures, but no dust filmed over the machines indicating that at least fairly recently they had been working and utilized.

Yet the threat of an unseen enemy lurking in the city invaded all of their thoughts.

"Orders, sir?" the man asked, frowning. The lack of any noise and the darkness were starting to get on his nerves, although he would never admit it out loud.

"We stay together, Watson. No heroics. Let's go check the living quarters."

"If I stay here I might be able to raise the comms and give us more power to—"

"Negative, Kavanaugh, we stay together." The leader ignored the scientist's frown. "Let's go. Watson, take the six. Larson, take point."

Larson nodded and she moved into position, gun at the ready. Her P90 light was a lonesome beam amid the liquid darkness beyond them. She felt a shiver and attributed it to the cold. She had heard many tales about the Ancients and their cities but none of them had ever described this. She was both disappointed and worried.

The team quietly exited and used another set of stairs as the transporters were inoperable. It seemed that the whole city was plunged into darkness and silence, as if it had fallen asleep and was lost in some dream.

Or it was lost in some nightmare.

"Sir, are you sure this is the right place?" asked Watson. He was clutching his gun tightly and couldn't keep his heart from pumping, pumping as the darkness seemed to close in around him, as tightly as a fist.

"Of course it's the right place!" Kavanaugh flared, but he too glanced round as if uncertain. Things were certainly not the way he remembered them. Not at all, but he tried to remain calm and vowed to find a rational explanation. He wondered if somehow the city had gone into a self-induced hibernation after some catastrophe.

Larson was silent as she checked the settings on her gun. The darkness didn't bother her but the silence did. The city should have been full of life, not this stagnation.

The leader paused, looking round the hallways he had once walked when he had been stationed here years ago. "Welcome to Atlantis," answered Major Bates.


	2. Chapter 2

Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door2

Larson paused at the first door. She knocked. It was a muffled sound with her glove over her fist so she removed her glove and knocked again. "Hello? Hello?" It was a bit comical, her tone being so polite, as if she was a saleswoman making a routine call. But there was nothing routine about this. She waved her hand over the panel. The door opened sluggishly after the panel spitted a flare of dull light. She entered. The rest of the team followed her. "Sir! Major Bates!" she exclaimed.

The team froze then gathered at the foot of a bed. They stared at the body of a man who was sprawled across it. The lights from their P90s revealed the blood congealing on his chest. It was an obvious bullet wound. The man had been dead for hours. Rigor mortis was already setting in, stiffening his outstretched limbs.

"I don't recognize him. Did you know him?" Kavanaugh asked.

"No," Bates replied. "Next room. Quietly."

The team proceeded down the darkened hallway. Every room was dark, cold, stale. Every room contained a dead body. Men. Women. Old and young. Even a baby. Most of the victims had been shot, but some had been stabbed with a knife. Blood drops were scattered along the floor as the murderer became increasingly messier and sloppier.

As the murderer became more psychotic and violent the rooms revealed more extensive carnage and some destruction.

Bates halted his team at the end of the hallway. He raised a hand, sliced the air with it, indicating that they should maintain radio silence. He met the shocked looks of his team as they mirrored his own. He pointed upwards and the team proceeded to another level, to another set of rooms and hallways.

The next level revealed the same carnage. The same indiscriminate murder of everyone in their own quarters met their eyes.

As did the next level after that.

And the next one after that.

Bates and his team stood near the laboratories taking a breather and trying to assess a situation that was so far incomprehensible. Sweat was shining on Bates' forehead despite the cold air. He felt the utter shock more keenly, having been stationed here years ago. He felt shaky seeing people he had known killed one by one and offering little if any resistance. He realized that the killer was someone they had known or someone they had recognized.

Someone they had trusted.

He rubbed his temple as a headache formed. He mentally recited the names of the dead. The names of the ones he had known.

Emmagan.

Dex.

Woolsey.

Banks.

Beckett.

Campbell.

There were countless others that he didn't know. Countless others he would now never know. A blond woman found shot amid bloody sheets. A marine shot to death as he sat in his bed, the look of surprise frozen on his face forever. The only common factor was that all were dead, seemingly killed within hours or minutes of each other. He wondered about the ones that were missing. He wondered about those three life signs.

"Sir? Orders?" Watson was trying not to stammer. He was trying not to vomit as horror after horror had greeted his eyes in every room, at every level. He was dazed by the numbers of the dead, by the sheer magnitude of what they were encountering.

Kavanaugh was shaking his head. He kept looking at his scanner, but so far the readings were clear. There were no toxins or poisons in the air to explain this sudden mass death of the Atlantis crew. And each body told its own story of being shot or stabbed or bludgeoned. The culprit wasn't a virus or a plague or an infection.

The culprit was a murderer.

Larson kept flashing her light along the hallway behind them, as if expecting the boogey man to appear. She couldn't understand what had happened here. It didn't make sense that a Wraith force had invaded. It couldn't be the Replicators because they were all destroyed. It could possibly have been the Genii or some other human enemy, but why kill everyone? The city was nearly inoperable without them.

Unless it had been an enemy unknown that had invaded the city.

"Sir? Sir, we…we're under water." Watson was pointing as he stood at a window.

The observation broke Bates from his shock. He moved to the window to see. "This level isn't below water…at least it wasn't. Kavanaugh?"

"The city is sinking," Kavanaugh stated, frowning at his scanner. "Slowly. Not by accident but by design. The ballasts have been timed to trigger a catastrophic release and to sink each section but keep it intact. I should have realized this sooner! That's what is draining all of the power until the Shield rises."

"And if the Shield fails to rise?" Larson asked.

"We better be out of here by then," Kavanaugh dourly noted.

"Let's check the labs," Bates said.

Reluctantly the team began the task. There were several labs on this level, representing varying specialties of the sciences needed for an extended expedition far from Earth. Botany, astrophysics, engineering, biochemistry, biology, medical research, agriculture, on and on, with more labs on other levels containing marvelous technologies that were far advanced and sometimes inoperable.

Each lab was pristine, quiet and dark.

Each lab held a few bodies. Fallen scientists with blood staining their white lab coats were either slouched over consoles or sprawled onto the floor. Some had instruments clutched in their dead hands, not as weapons but to aid with whatever they had been working on before being killed. As if they had been killed while working and hadn't had time to react. Men. Women.

Machines were quiescent, a few still running but sluggishly as power was being diverted from them. Kavanaugh approached a console and tried to get it running, to pry any clue from it but all access was blocked. He tried another code, an older code from when he had been stationed in Atlantis but it too failed. Finally he tried a data pad and managed to get it running for a few seconds before it sputtered and died.

The machines were as much the victims as were the people.

"Anything?" Bates asked.

"No. The data's been either encrypted or erased. Deleted…even with full power I doubt I could get much from it now. It's been corrupted from an internal source."

"More sabotage?" Larson asked.

"Possibly, or it was a computer virus." Kavanaugh shrugged, having no idea.

"Let's move out. Watson, take point. Watson!"

The younger man jumped, nearly calling out in fright but he regained his composure and led the team out of the lab and into the darkened hallway.

The team paused before a flight of stairs, shaken by the gruesome discoveries. They were chilled by the absolute silence. Nevertheless they felt as if they were being watched, as if unseen eyes were tracking their every movement through the derelict city.

"Sir?" Larson was staring down the hallway. Shadows and darkness merged to play tricks on her eyes as if she could see someone but when she directed her P90 light there was no one there.

"We keep going. We need to track those three life signs before it's too late."

"But we don't even know what's happened here, sir? What if those three signs are the are the killers?" Watson asked. He was beginning to exhibit the signs of a panic attack.

"We are fully armed and have the advantage of surprise, Watson," Bates assured, but he glanced at Kavanaugh. "Can you distinguish those life signs at all?"

"No. I can only tell you they are life signs…reading human."

"No Wraith, then."

"Or Replicators or aliens or…" Larson sighed and blew a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. "Sir, what if it's the Genii?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, major. For now let's proceed and try to find those three life signs. Kavanaugh?"

"Tracking now…I'm getting some kind of interference again…I can't trace the source."

Watson had moved to a window again and was staring at the waters outside. He touched the pane. The glass was cold to his fingers. He could almost feel the wetness. "We're not that deep, sir. I mean we could raise the city if we had to, right? It wouldn't inundate the 'Gate room."

"Don't worry, lieutenant. We'll get home in good time."

"Maybe we should check the armory, sir."

"Negative, Larson. I'm sure there's nothing there. We'll head up to the training rooms if we can't track those three life signs."

"Working on it!" Kavanaugh snapped, shoving his glasses up to peer at the scanner's readings. He punched a sequence of buttons, waited. He frowned, punched them again. "They're gone."

"Gone? What the hell do you mean gone? They've been eliminated?" Bates demanded. The two marines raised their guns, but so far there was no enemy to shoot.

So far there was no one to rescue.

So far there was no one.

"No, I mean gone. As in I am no longer reading them. It's like…it's like the city isn't letting me use its own tech against it. I can't explain it!"

"Wonderful. What was the last heading?"

"Sir? Does this mean they they are dead?" Watson asked in a stammer.

"Maybe they left the city somehow," Larson ventured.

Before Bates could reply or reprimand the floor tilted under his feet as if capsizing, and the team was throw across the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door3

The team careened sideways into the opposite wall as the floor tilted under their feet. Faint alarms blared then were oddly silenced. The hit the wall hard, but no one was seriously injured. Several swear words hit the air and were absorbed by the silence.

The floor rocked again, trying to dislodge the team and throw them into the opposite wall, but they steadied themselves, ready for the impact. Nevertheless they slid and slipped on the floor and hit the other wall but not as roughly as the first time.

The city was like a bucking bronco, trying to remove the unwanted riders on its back.

"What the hell was that?" Bates demanded.

"I don't know!" Kavanaugh snapped, trying to access his scanner and adjust his glasses at the same time while keeping his footing as the hallway rocked like a ship lost at sea. A few alarms whispered and lights gleamed until they were doused by an unknown command.

"Did we hit something?" Watson asked, clutching his gun and keeping his back braced against the wall to keep standing. Images of the ill-fated Titanic filled his mind, but there were no icebergs in this ocean. He stifled back a hysterical laugh.

"We're anchored, aren't we, sir?" Larson asked. She knelt and touched the floor, almost expecting it to be buckling but it was flat and stable. It was dry as a bone. She glanced round to see the water in the walls bubbling, but flowing upwards, not downwards as if defying gravity. She blinked and looked away from the anomaly, disturbed.

"Yes, we're anchored on the ocean surface…at least we should be. Kavanaugh?"

"I need a terminal access." He turned pointing, eyes on his scanner. "This way. There should be a ZPM outlet room down this hallway where I should be able to gain access to a remote terminal. It might be more cooperative than the main terminal and I think I can hack my way into the lesser systems to at least get a reading."

"Let's go," Bates agreed.

"What about the three life signs, sir?" Larson asked as she followed the men down the hallway. "They could be survivors and injured."

"They can wait until we get this city stabilized," Bates decided. "We can't help them if we end up drowning, now can we?"

Kavanaugh was muttering to himself as he entered the dark room and made his way to a computer terminal. He set down his scanner and began attacking the keyboard. The monitor blinked to life but the screen was full of gibberish. The only sounds were the clacking of the keys as the scientist kept trying to gain entry to the city's systems.

Watson and Larson stood by the doorway, shining their P90 lights across the dark hallway and listening for any sounds of life.

There were none.

Bates circled the room. He noted the empty containers which should have held three ZPMs to power the city. He noted the absence of any naquadah generators or any kind of arsenal. There was no destruction here, however. It looked as if the ZPMs had merely been removed or relocated. He moved to stand next to Kavanaugh. "Well?"

"Nothing! It's like the city is, is fighting me! It won't accept any basic command codes! Even at this level I should be able to at least access basic systems and get a reading on the city's status! It should be working!" He almost slammed his fist on the table out of frustration.

"Let me try. I have a few command codes. I have Weir's which still might work. And I have Sheppard's." Bates reached into a pocket of his TAC vest and produced a piece of paper. He set his P90 aside and drew the keyboard to him.

Kavanaugh eyed him, skeptical and surprised. "You have Sheppard's code? Don't you think he would have used it?"

"No. I think that Sheppard is dead."

There was a hush, a strange sound like a sharp intake of breath.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Bates continued, frowning as Weir's code was being rejected by the machine. He typed in the letters and numbers again but still the machine did not respond. He looked up to see his team staring at him. "Look how wrong things have gone here. This attack or infiltration has nearly destabilized the city and almost everyone is slaughtered. That tells me that Sheppard was probably among the first victims unless by some odd chance he was out of the city when this happened."

"I thought you didn't like Sheppard," Kavanaugh recalled. The two men had often butted heads over security decisions.

"I don't. But he did keep this city alive and running for five years and I respect him for that. I also know that he wouldn't give up this city without a fight, unless for some reason he capitulated in the end." Bates typed in the command code. The machine beeped, and power flared. "There, you see? We can get the—"

Sparks flew and an electric surge jolted the machines. A whine of fury filled the air.

Bates yelled and flew backwards as the static discharge hissed through his fingers and made his limbs tingle. He fell onto the floor with a grunt. Kavanaugh drew back as the machine spitted and sputtered and with a shaky hand he reached out to power it down. A thin trail of smoke issued from the fried wires, a tiny spiral of gray that was soon lost in the gloom.

He swore as it zapped him before going dark. For a brief, brief second he could have sworn two words had flashed on the screen and then were gone in the blink of an eye.

_Got ya_

"What the hell? Sir, are you all right?" Watson was rushing to his commanding officer but Bates raised his hand to halt the younger man.

"I'm fine. Damn!" He moved to his feet, shaking his arms. They had that pins and needles feeling and he vigorously flexed them to awaken the muscles. "It's like it attacked me!"

Kavanaugh snatched his scanner from the table, attributing the words to his imagination or to stress. "I think we better leave this alone for now. Something is blocking our access, either a firewall or a computer virus or some internal damage to the city's systems…" Doubt lined his face as he eyed the console.

Machines couldn't react to people like that, now could they?

"There's no ordnance, sir," Larson reported. She had moved to a cabinet which was devoid of any kind of weapons. There was no C4 or guns or stunners. Not even a knife was to be found. The barrenness was creepy.

"Is it possible that the, the city turned on itself? Could the city turn on its inhabitants?"

Kavanaugh would have laughed at the question, but not now. He considered, carefully walking around the terminal as if he was circling a mad dog. "Possibly. We know that the systems on Altantis are quite complex, and especially reactive to people with the ATA gene. In fact the whole city if not their entire civilization was based upon this prejudice and designed specifically for those who had that single genetic anomaly and they-"

"I didn't ask for a lecture, just answer, doctor. Yes or no?" Bates clarified. He was irritated by the increasingly nervous ramblings of the scientist.

"No. I mean it would have to be directed by either a code or a virus."

"Is the city stable?"

"For now. From what I could access before it all turned to gibberish yes. But it won't remain like that."

"Can we initiate a self-destruct?" Bates asked. "I wonder if Sheppard tried that before it all went to hell and this is the result."

"We can't do that, not if the city is rejecting every code that we have," Kavanaugh answered.

"Let's finish checking this level. Track those life signs if you can. First and foremost this is a search and rescue mission. Watson, take…where's Watson?"

"He was just here, sir!" Larson answered.

Lights shone across the room. There was no sign of the young marine.

"Damn it. Watson! Watson, report!" Bates ordered quietly. He didn't want to shout in case there were hostiles in the vicinity. He gestured and the team quickly exited the room.

"Watson?"

The young man was standing at the foot of a set of stairs, gun lowered. He was gazing upwards as if spellbound. An emergency light was flickering on him, creating an elongated shadow behind him until it melted into the darkness.

The team advanced towards him slowly after exchanging glances.

"Watson? What is it, son?" Bates asked, tone gentle. He touched the young man's arm and Watson nearly jumped. He met the leader's gaze, shook his head, eyes wide. Bates looked at the stairs and let his gaze travel upwards to see whatever it was that had so riveted and reviled the young marine. "Son of a bitch," he said softly, freeing the other man's arm.

Larson and Kavanaugh joined him to see what had caused such a comment. They wished that they hadn't.

All stared.

There was a man hanging above the stairs, suspended by ropes that stretched out his arms and his legs. His back was towards them, head slung over his chest. Blood had pooled under him in a dark, dark stain on the top step. The Atlantis patch had been ripped from his shoulder and was floating on the pool of blood, a little island of pale fabric lost in the gloom.

Bates couldn't see his face, or the name on his uniform, but he knew. He knew by the build of the man. The long, lean lines of the body clad entirely in black. The dark hair on the bowed head was tousled in every direction and against regulations. Bates knew he had not died easily, that he had fought every step of the way, trying to save the lives of his friends and his colleagues and the city. He knew despite their differences this was a good man, a decent man, and it was horrible to see all that goodness and decency torn out and put on display like a terrible trophy.

"Sir…is it…" Watson stammered. Despite the young man's height he seemed to cower in front of the horror facing him.

"Yes, lieutenant." Bates sighed and turned to face his team. "Sheppard."

A noise interrupted.


	4. Chapter 4

Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door4

The team turned as one unit. They froze. For a moment they thought they had imagined the sound. It had been faint, nearly lost in the silence and oppressive atmosphere of the city. Bates gestured and the team advanced with their guns at the ready. The sound had come from one of the labs they had yet to investigate.

Bates gestured and the P90 lights were turned off, plunging the team into darkness. They entered the lab, the two marines fanning out to either side of Bates and Kavanaugh. At first the lab appeared empty. It was cold, freezing as if the ocean was already invading the city. There was hardly any light at all except a pallid glow from a single monitor.

A man was standing, slouching as he held something in his hands. His back was towards them. He turned slightly and the object revealed itself to be a ZPM. The dim light played across him but kept most of him in shadow.

"Freeze! Don't move! Put down the ZPM and raise your hands above your head so I can see them!" Bates ordered.

The man slowly, slowly set the ZPM onto a table. As P90 lights crisscrossed it the damage was exposed. One side was crushed, smashed inwards and was a mess of jutting orange and yellow shards. A few wires protruded.

"Turn around slowly!"

The man turned, hands raised. He was as white as a sheet, as white as the lab coat he wore. Blood covered his pale blue shirt and beige pants. He groaned and fell to his knees before he could say a word.

"McKay? Oh my God, that's Rodney McKay!" Bates shouted. "Lower your weapons!" He rushed to the physicist before Rodney fell onto his face.

"Rodney? Rodney, it's me, Kavanaugh!" The scientist moved next to Bates and both men braced the physicist before he collapsed. "Do you remember me? What the hell happened here? McKay? McKay!"

Rodney McKay tried to speak but blood was bubbling between his lips and spilling down his chin. He was hanging onto the ZPM for dear life, refusing to give it to Kavanaugh as the other man tried to tug it free. Rodney's blood was spilling onto it and Kavanaugh drew back in both alarm and disgust.

"Rodney, easy now! We're here to help you!" Bates assured. "Larson, med kit!"

"You have…you have to stop him…he's…you have to stop…" Rodney muttered. His voice was a harsh whisper gasping for air, gurgling past the blood.

"Easy, now, Rodney, we'll take care of you! Stop who? Who is doing this?" Bates asked, easing the man onto his side as Larson knelt near, undoing her TAC vest and pulling out various medical supplies. It would have to be a temporary fix, but that was better than nothing.

"Stop him…you have to stop him…city…stop him…he doesn't know…right mind…he thinks he can save…stop him…" Rodney's eyes widened and he freed the ZPM to grab Bates' arm. "You have to stop him!" he insisted. Suddenly he flinched and gasped and went rigid.

"Shit! He's coding! Get back!" Larson shoved Bates and Kavanaugh out of the way. She shoved the ZPM out of the way and began chest compressions, trying to stimulate the organ as she turned him onto his back.

She pumped and pumped, counting in her head. She checked his pulse. She began the compressions again until at last Rodney heaved and sputtered. Larson sat back, wiped her brow. She checked his pulse. "He's very weak…we're gonna lose him if we don't get him out of here now!"

"He's the only one who can tell us what happened here," Bates said.

"Then let's get him to the SGC and we can return with reinforcements," Kavanaugh suggested, clutching the ZPM to him like a shield. The emergency lights were reflected in his glasses and made him appear owlish.

"Sir, sir, we should move out now and get help," Watson agreed, nervously looking round the dark lab. He tried to keep his hands steady on his gun. Sweat made his fingers slick. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Negative. There are still two life signs unaccounted for, and they made need help," Bates decided. "Larson, stabilize him as best you can. Keep him alive at all costs! Kavanaugh, can you get that thing working?"

Kavanaugh eyed the ZPM in his hands. "Are you kidding me? Of course not! It's been damaged beyond repair and even if by some miracle I could get it into the output room I would have to configure it and use the command codes which the city has so far rejected!"

"We need McKay, damn it," Bates realized, staring down at the injured physicist.

"I don't think even McKay could get this thing to work. It's been badly damaged and I doubt it has enough power left to even momentarily power the city," Kavanaugh stated, keeping his gaze on the ZPM and not on the critically injured man in front of him.

"Try it anyway! If we can just buy a little more time we might be able to get to the bottom of—"

A woman's sharp cry startled the air.

Bates stood, grabbing his P90 and swinging it upwards. "Kavanaugh, Larson, stay here with McKay and keep him alive! Watson, with me now!"

The two men sprinted from the lab and hastened down the hallway, chasing the sound. They stopped, unable to locate the source as silence fell. Several seconds passed as they waited, uncertain as to which direction to take.

They broke into a run, hearing a cacophony of noises. Crashes and bangs were echoing as if someone or something was going berserk in one of the lower labs. The two men ran down the stairs, following the noises until the noises abruptly stopped.

The rest was silence.

Bates and Watson slowed. They neared a lab. A light was flashing on and off, on and off until it suddenly sparked and died. The two men vanquished their P90 lights as they dropped into stealth mode. They slowly, slowly entered the lab and paused.

The lab was a mess. Chairs were overturned. Machines were broken, shoved haphazardly into walls or knocked over completely. Glass shards littered the floor and sparkled in the sporadic illumination. There was a strange beeping sound as a button was stuck on one machine and emitting a sound like a distress signal.

A flickering emergency light flashed sporadically on two people, a man and a woman. The woman was pressed against a wall, being held there. Part of her white lab coat had been ripped away on the right side. She was staring at the man who was holding her to the wall, his hands gripping her upper arms and keeping her in place. His bloody fingerprints were long stains on the white material. The woman had a red gash across her cheek as if she had just been backhanded by the man.

"You don't have to do this, please, please," she stammered. Her voice was soft, quavering as were the lights flickering on them. A trickle of blood stained her lower lip. Her hair was a mess of bedraggled brown strands as if she had been violently shoved or shaken.

"I have to. It's the only way," the man replied. He sounded weary but resigned. There was a gruff edge to his voice that brooked no opposition. "It's the only way to save you. To save all of you." His conviction was chilling.

"No, there has to be another way. He'll find it, I know he will! Please, just give him time! You don't have to do this!" she pleaded, unable to move, locked in his hold and by his steady gaze.

"I don't have a choice. Maybe I want to do this. Maybe I have always wanted to do this." His words came slowly, almost slurring but he was stone cold sober.

The woman felt a shiver of pure fear along her spine. "Please…no…you can't…"

"Your research has left me no option. None." One hand slid up to touch her bruised cheek and she flinched. "I'm sorry, Moira. It has to be this way. I didn't want to do this…that's why I left you for last…almost…I wish I didn't have to do this but it will save you. I will save you."

His touch was almost gentle as his fingers slid around her throat.

He began to squeeze gently.

His gaze was gentle as he slowly squeezed the life out of her.

"Don't move!" Bates ordered, before the man could strangle the woman. "Let her go! Step away from her and slowly turn to us. Now!" P90 lights illuminated the scene. The woman stared at them, shock on her face. The man in front of her didn't move except to stop squeezing her throat. "I said let her go! Step away from her and move to your knees or I will shoot you!"

The woman looked back at the man. "Please, do as they say, please. Help has come. They can help us," she pleaded. Tears glittered in her brown eyes. Her voice was a gasp as his fingers had remained around her throat.

"No. It's too late for that. I did what I had to do to save us, all of us, before they get here. They can't harm any of us now," the man reasoned.

Bates stepped closer, gun trained on the man. Watson slowly stepped with him. "Step away from her now or I will shoot you! I am Major Bates from the SGC and I am ordering you to—"

"Major Bates? Huh." The man freed the woman. She coughed, grasping her throat. His long fingers had left bloody imprints like a scarlet choker. The man turned, arms upraised in the air. One hand was forming a fist and clasping some white material. He squinted as the lights hit him in the face, momentarily blinding him.

Bates stared open-mouthed and he lowered his gun. It was a reflex motion, done without thought. It was an automatic response. The man was clad in black, head to toes. He was scruffy. Dark hair lined his strong jaw and chin. Blood was a darker darkness on his clothing, a scarlet splash on his skin. The look in his eyes was neither insane nor lucid, but somewhere in between.

Bates realized the assumption he had made about the man hanging above the stairs was evidently wrong, very wrong. A jolt of fear shot through him.

"Sir?" Watson asked, uncertain as Bates wasn't shooting and was frozen in place, utter shock on his face. Meanwhile the man in front of them stood waiting, utterly passive. Utterly still.

Utterly at ease with what he was doing, with what he had done.

Seconds passed until Bates found his voice.

"Colonel Sheppard," he identified.


	5. Chapter 5

Stargate Atlantis: Death's Door5

John Sheppard woke with a start, almost leaping off the bed but firm hands held him down.

"Steady, steady, easy now. John, John, breathe, breathe, there you go, son," Carson Beckett urged, keeping his patient in place.

John was gasping for air, writhing on the bed as he couldn't breathe past the sheer panic and horror seizing him. His flight or fight response was strong, overpowering but disorganized. He swallowed a great lungful of air, finally taking in the oxygen he needed although his heart was still racing, pumping wildly as adrenalin ravaged him. He blinked rapidly. His vision was a blur of light and darkness, until Carson came into view.

John fell back against the bed as the burning in his chest subsided and he was able to breathe normally. "Water," he rasped.

Carson helped him drink from a paper cup. "You're safe now, John."

John greedily sipped the cold water. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. He closed his eyes a moment, calming. He slowly gained control of his emotions. He opened his eyes to find the bed surrounded by friends. "All alive…all…" he muttered, almost feeling tears but regaining his composure. He touched his head as a dull pain throbbed. He felt a cut above his eye and wondered at it.

He lowered his hand, staring at it. The very thought of even being capable of such rampant evil was unthinkable to him. Except that he knew that somewhere, deep, deep down it lurked like a cancerous shadow. It was composed of all of the guilt and grief and anger he had kept buried over the years. He knew that the hanging man had been himself, his better self, his saner self; and the other one, the murderous one who thought he had been doing the best thing for everyone was what resulted when all the good and decency had been ripped from him.

When all of the anguish and guilt swallowed the last vestiges of conscience and morality the outcome might not be as horrendous but the possibility was there. It lurked in the subconscious and in the darkest corners of his mind.

"You barely made it, John," Richard Woolsey informed. "Rodney was able to pinpoint the location and Major Teldy scouted the area with Major Reynolds. When you reappeared you winked out of existence for a few moments, like a wormhole. Your ship was badly damaged and you were venting atmosphere. You have a concussion and several bruises but are otherwise fine. I can't say the same for the Jumper, however."

"You lost a drive pod and were venting atmosphere," Rodney continued, his look of relief letting John know just how close he had really come to dying. "Teldy and Reynolds were able to connect their shields with your ship and get you to the mainland before you crashed."

John broke from his sullen realizations as the words threaded his way out of his musings. His gaze roved until he saw the two majors standing at the back. "Thanks," he rasped.

"I'm just glad to have you back, John, er, colonel," Ann Teldy corrected. A blush warmed her pretty face over the awkward slip.

"And in one piece," Teyla Emmagan said with a smile. She touched his arm a moment. "You had us all very worried, John."

"Can't say the same for the ship," Ronon Dex jested.

"How long?" John asked. It was still difficult to speak.

"You've been gone almost a week, colonel," Jason Reynolds stated.

"What? A week?" John exclaimed, began to cough. He sat back as Carson handed him the paper cup. John drank slowly from it, easing the strain in his throat. The lights in the infirmary were too bright and he narrowed his gaze against them.

"Yes, more or less. Time moves differently in each rift in space and time. Say, where did you go?" Rodney asked.

"Yes, where did you go?" Teyla echoed.

"Enough for now," Carson interrupted, turning to view the audience. They were all staring at John, expressions full of relief and curiosity. "Let the man rest. He's been through a lot."

"He's been through a lot? Try searching for a specific point in both time and space relative to a rift being opened in another universe or reality let alone projecting when and where the rift would open to return him and then calculating the exact algorithms to find the—"

"Shoo!" Carson interrupted Rodney's rant. The doctor waved his hands in front of him. "All of you now!"

"At least tell us where you went," Richard said.

"And tell us what you did," Ronon added.

"And tell us what you saw," Teyla stated.

"Who took you, anyway? Was it another version of Atlantis? Where did you go, John? There are countless alternate realities possible and you could have ended up in any number of permutations!" Rodney enthused.

"Go!" Carson almost shouted. "All of you now! The man needs his rest and then he will tell us all about it, all right?"

John smiled as his friends sheepishly eyed each other, eyed John and reluctantly departed, talking quietly. He sighed, gingerly touched his head and glanced round the infirmary. He spied his duffel bag on the floor, still zipped and stared at it a moment, memories of Vegas flitting among the nightmare like bright spots in a well of blackness.

He began to wonder what had been real and what had not been real. The duffel bag seemed to confirm that his little trip to Vegas, an alternate Vegas had been real enough.

"Sir?" The soft voice made him look up to see Ann standing near, concern on her pretty face, worry in her blue eyes. Her blond hair was tied back in an efficient bun, as always. She touched his arm a moment, an almost shy gesture as the doctor was moving round to check the IV. "Glad to see you back, sir. We were all very worried."

"Thanks, Ann. I was a little worried too."

She smiled. Nodded. Her blue eyes were full of softer emotions, things that she couldn't say or wouldn't say. After a moment she left.

John watched her leave, noting the way her Atlantis BDU's hugged her form. He looked round the infirmary again. He was the only patient. Nurses were quietly working across the room from him. Carson was consulting a data pad. The quiet was reassuring, but more so was the light, the life and the city itself which seemed to rest easy now that he was back.

Now that he was back where he belonged, and was himself.

Carson stepped to him, smiled. He patted the military commander's shoulder, a comforting gesture. "Rest easy, John."

"Was I really gone a, a week?" John asked.

"Yes, you were. You're back here now, where you belong. Can you remember anything about where you were or what you did?"

"Some," he evaded. He licked his lips. "I…um…Lorne?"

Carson's smile faded. "We buried him on the mainland near the shore. It was a very nice, lovely ceremony. Since we are unable to contact Earth we thought…well, we just thought…" His words fell away and sadness crept into the doctor's eyes. There was a brief resumption of grief.

"Just checking," John said quietly. For a wild moment he had been hoping that maybe he had gone backwards in time, not forwards. That maybe Lorne was still alive and somehow John could prevent the man from being killed.

"Sorry, John." Carson patted his shoulder again. "Rodney says it doesn't work like that. Time moves forward, just at different rates. It never moves backwards. I'm sure he would be more than willing to explain it to you at great length about the impossibilities of time travel."

"Thanks, Carson, but no. I can skip the lecture."

"I wish that I could have." The men chuckled.

"Doc…did I miss anything?" John asked. He found himself looking around again, but he didn't know what he was searching for, or for whom with such an odd feeling of worry.

"No, not really, John. We were all busy trying to locate you. We still can't make the connection to Earth. We haven't heard anything from our allies or our enemies. All's quiet on the Pegasus front," he jested.

"Oh. What about the fuglies?"

"The what? Those new aliens?" At John's nod Carson continued. "Moira's working on it with the footage she managed to save plus we have a few scant tissue samples that we…John?" The doctor became concerned at the expression on John's face. The man looked as if he had seen a ghost or witnessed some horror. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." John shrugged, shaking off the reaction, the emotion. "Just need to get some rest."

"All right. If you need anything I'll be over there."

John watched the doctor move across the room. John was trying to erase the vestiges of the nightmare from his mind. It had to have been a nightmare. It had been a nightmare from his deepest, darkest self, from the years of guilt upon guilt upon guilt that he kept buried deep inside of him. No doubt the concussion had really scrambled his brain. That had to be it.

He sighed. He settled. He lifted his other hand. It was clenched in a fist, had been so the entire time. Only now did he notice. A piece of fabric was sticking out between his fingers.

It was white.

John swallowed. His heart beat just a little faster. He looked round but everyone was engaged in their own tasks, not taking note of him. Slowly he unclenched his fingers to reveal the object he had been holding so tightly.

It was a white piece of fabric. It was torn. Threads were hanging from it, as if violently ripped off a garment.

It could have come from a white lab coat.

A name was embroidered on it. One word was embroidered in blue lettering.

O'Meara.


End file.
